


Wings Frozen Over

by AniyuSRaven (Aniyu_Shadowraven)



Series: Logs of Inspiration and Possibilities [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Hawke Self-Sacrifice, Spoilers for Here Lies the Abyss, Varric and Hawke are soulmates IMO, Varric needs a million hugs, incomplete Fenris romance, platonic or otherwise, timeline set before the Death Knight origin/starting area, with a slight variation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14102004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aniyu_Shadowraven/pseuds/AniyuSRaven
Summary: Varric hated himself for a lot of things that he hadn’t told anyone, but most of them revolved around his best and dearest friend. Most recently? He hated himself for calling Hawke out of hiding to aid the Inquisition. Varric was certain he had gotten Hawke killed, after all these years. In a way, he’s right, but it isn’t the battle in the Fade that killed Hawke. Oh no, she died when she fell through a crack in the Fade to another world, landing before a king who rules over Death. That king saw not only her potential, but the opportunity for a goldmine of servants in a new world. How can he resist?akaHawke falls through the Fade into Azeroth, right into the Lich King’s hands and is made a Death Knight. She is made his herald back to Thedas, and the first target is the Inquisition. She reunites with her dearest friend and brings him to her side.





	Wings Frozen Over

**Author's Note:**

> As the title of the collection this piece is starting indicates, this is one of many ideas that have come to me that I may or may not get the inspiration to make into a full story. Please don't demand regular updates; if inspiration comes to me, I'll post. In the meantime I have no problems with other people rolling with this idea themselves. I'd love to see what other people make of it~!
> 
> -Thoughts are in _Italics_

Lythriael Hawke was many things, but when you strip away the titles and her armor and weapons, she is just another human woman. And in this moment, when she stands on the precipice of Life and Death, she finds herself praying like any other living being for a quick death. She knows she can’t run from this; there’s no back up coming and both the Inquisitor and Stroud are too important to the world for either of them to die here.

_She_ is the expendable one, and she wishes she were anywhere else but here.

But that isn’t to be. She _is_ here, and a choice has to be made. Only there really isn’t a choice, and Lythriael knows it even as Inquisitor Evanna Lavellan struggles to find the courage to choose one of them to die.

So she once more dons the surety of her Champion mantle, takes a deep breath, and speaks. “Inquisitor?”

“Y-Yes?”

Lythriael smiles, certain her own heart is breaking. “Say goodbye to Varric for me.” And in the next instant, she’s in the Nightmare’s personal space, moving to lash at the nearest leg holding the beast up.

She forces herself to focus only on movement. Each minor twitch of the Nightmare’s legs and mandibles that could be an attack. The familiar motions of slashing with each blade in her hand as she spun and twisted her body through every stance she knew.

Out of the corner of her eyes she sees Stroud dragging Evanna physically to the rift, and a part of her heart warms a bit to see the elven woman struggling viciously in the man’s grasp with eyes locked on her. They haven’t known each other long, but she and the Inquisitor had gotten along well and they both had a dear friend and connection in a certain charming Dwarf. It feels oddly nice, to know the woman is going to miss her, mourn her, probably right alongside Varric. Of course, it hurts deeply knowing she’s going to cause a lot of pain with her passing, but there is a comfort in knowing people will care enough to mourn.

As she dances between the demon’s legs, near completely disabling two of them, she sees the rift slam shut. _That’s it then. There’s no escape now._ Lythriael leaps back from the fight for a moment to take a deep breath. _Time for the last push._ With any luck, she’d make sure the Nightmare scarred from her last moments in this fight.

The last of the Hawkes holds nothing back. Every move she’s ever known, every tool and poison she has on her person. She employs them all. She knows the thing is talking, ranting, at her. Trying to distract her. But she doesn’t hear a word of it.

Between each strike, she sees a memory. Every movement, she hears voices she knows and loves. With each remaining beat of her heart, she recalls every wish and dream she ever dared to have.

As she catches sight of an attack she knows she can’t dodge, Lythriael carves the names of every person she loves and has loved into her soul.

Malcom Hawke, Leandra Amell, Carver Hawke, Bethany Hawke, Beo the Mabari.

Gamlen Amell, Charade Amell, Sandal, Bodhan, Merrill.

Evanna Lavellan, Cullen Rutherford, Cole, Dorian Pavus.

Aveline Vallen-Hendyr, Donnic Hendyr, Isabela.

Fenris.

Varric Tethras.

The leg slams into her gut, cutting deep as she’s flung hard and far. She manages not to lose hold of her daggers, but it doesn’t matter. Somehow she’s falling through open air, and Lythriael’s a little bemused to realize she just fell through a hole in that particular Fade isle. She can faintly hear the Nightmare screeching in rage, deprived of a proper kill, and there’s a certain smug joy Lythriael can claim from that knowledge.

But right now she lets contentment and acceptance envelop her as she continues free falling, watching as her blood trails above her from the deep wound. At this point it doesn’t matter if she bleeds out first; she’s falling far enough, quickly enough, that she’ll likely die on impact with the first surface she hits. Lythriael doesn’t turn to see if there’s another isle somewhere below her, though she does sheath her weapons; no point in having them out but she’s a little loathe to lose them when they’ve served her faithfully since that final battle in Kirkwall’s Gallows.

That done, she lets her eyes drift close and just feels the air around her. Oddly enough, the words Flemeth spoke to her, that day Merrill joined her dysfunctional band of misfits, return to her mind and she can’t help but spread her arms out as if they were wings.

_“We stand upon the precipice of change, and the world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment…and when it comes, do not hesitate to_ leap _. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”_

_A shame I never learned how to turn into a dragon._

…-…-…-…-…

Varric isn’t sure why he feels like he can’t catch his breath, why he feels like his lungs are being squeezed out, as he watches the rift. He’s edgy, waiting for Lythriael, Evanna, and Stroud to come through. Cassandra and Dorian are closest to him, having been with them in the Fade, but he notices Cole and Solas making their way over, Cullen still marshaling order as best he can with Blackwall’s help. This isn’t the first time he’s wished his and Hawke’s crew were here too, but for some reason the wish cuts a little more deeply and by Andraste’s flaming knickers he has no idea _why_.

Dread washes over him as Cole halts beside him and stares with sudden grief at the rift.

“A choice, an _impossible_ choice. Newborn friendship nested in ebon feathers and a blue moon gaze. Solemn duty wrought in Taint and despair, but a duty all the same. Both are important, both are _needed_. Trapped. But choice is stolen away. Ebon wings fly to fall, to _save_ , her epitaph a charge that weighs more than a thousand lives.”

“Kid, what’re you––“ Varric doesn’t get the chance to finish, because Stroud comes through, pulling a resisting Inquisitor. He sees Stroud brace Evanna up, clearly saying something to her. And in the next moment, she lifts her marked hand, grips a fist, and the rift slams shut.

His heart may as well have turned to stone because _Lythriael Hawke hadn’t followed them out_. He stumbles forward, unable to hear anything anyone is saying around him. He only has eyes for the Inquisitor and Stroud, both of whom look at him as he approaches. Evanna is holding back tears, breathing heavily, and she has that look that so mirrors the one Lythriael wore after her mother’s death. Stroud just looks solemn and guilty.

It’s putting cracks in the stone that his heart’s become. He has to ask. “Where’s….Hawke…?”

Silence.

“ _Where’s Hawke?!_ ”

“Hawke…sacrificed her life to save us,” Evanna sounds almost angry, yet her voice is trembling with self-loathing. “The Nightmare came back, was between us and the rift… She sacrificed her life for us, and to strike a decisive blow against Corypheus.”

His heart _shatters_ , and he knows there’s no repairing it. His gaze drops to the ground, fists clenching, but after a moment he sharply turns away and flees the courtyard. He doesn’t hear what anyone might’ve tried to say and he can’t bring himself to say anything himself because he’ll either yell at Evanna –who he can tell doesn’t deserve that– or at Stroud.

Yelling won’t help, won’t bring her back.

The Nightmare’s taunting resurfaces in his head as he goes to find a quiet corner. _“Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here…”_

But in the next moment, it isn’t the the memory of the demon echoing in his mind, it’s his own voice. _And now she’ll never leave that place, because you were too weak to protect her. A simple request for advice and information, that’s all that would’ve been needed! There was no reason to actually call Hawke out of hiding! But…you missed her, wanted her fighting at your side again just like old times. You were_ weak _…too weak to keep your own promise to keep her hidden and safe. And in the Fade? There was no reason for half the party to rush ahead and leave. You could’ve taken up a watch position from beside the rift until the other three made it. But you were so_ relieved _to get out of the Fade, you ran out without a second thought!_

Varric stumbled to a halt, collapsing against a stone wall near the battlements.

_You abandoned her._

The dwarf slid down the wall to his knees, an near inaudible whimper leaving him.

_You forced her to make that decision, to pay yet another price._

He curled over his knees, pressing his face into his hands as the tears started to come.

_You left her to die._

“I know…I _know_ …Hawke…Lyth…Forgive me…”

…-…-…-…-…

Lythriael weakly opened her eyes, wondering how long she’d been falling, how much blood she’d lost already. Glancing around, her heart leapt as she caught sight of something glowing she turned her head just enough. A rift, directly below her and floating freely in the air, She wanted to hope, felt it bloom in her heart, and she managed to turn herself mid-air so she was now falling face down.

But as she came up on the rift, she realized the view she could see on the other side looked nothing like anything she recognized. Lythriael had just long enough for a chill to settle in her soul before she met the rift, her fall near instantly slowing before she was dropped out of the Fade.

She barely withheld a yelp of pain as she fell on a freezing, hard surface. _Is this a metal floor? It doesn’t feel like stone…_ Her body rolled a little, and one arm immediately went around her waist in an attempt to staunch her wound. Gritting her teeth and tensing from the sheer cold around her, praying for any luck that there was aid nearby, Lythriael cracked open her eyes again.

It was irrational in a way, how she immediately felt terrified when her gaze landed on a tall form dressed in some of the most imposing armor she’d ever seen. Against the back drop of ice, snow, and hauntingly blue and green metal structures unlike any architecture she was aware of, the being looked like a king…one of the villainous ones you would hear of in stories. She wasn’t certain even Varric could come up with a better description than that.

She tried to bolster her nerve. She had faced down scores of horrifying creatures and beings for years now, and Lythriael Hawke was no coward. But as she struggled to her knees and opened her mouth to speak, her voice died in her throat as _he_ spoke first.

“How curious… In the months since this rift first opened, we have encountered only creatures, spirits and demons of such…frailty… It seems the last one was correct in that it would only be matter of time before a mortal fell through. Though it appears to have been mistaken in its assertion that it would be a hapless mage.”

The figure walked toward her, and for some reason Lythriael couldn’t move or speak as his presence became overwhelming. It wasn’t even so much fear that held her; it reminded her more of the forced hold of Blood Magic –such as what Idunna had used– but had the chill of winter magic instead of the painful squeeze of the darkest arts.

“No. In fact, I would say you are someone a little more special…” Lythriael watched in trepidation as he drew a sinister blade from his waist, the cold sharpening drastically around her. “Let us see just what you have to offer.”

In an instant, Lythriael’s eyes went wide as the blade speared her through the chest, as easily as if she were air rather than flesh. And in the next, her eyes went dark as she collapsed, her last breath and thought centered on the one she had always relied on. _So cold…Varric…_

…-…-…-…-…

The journey back to Skyhold was silent and desolate for one Varric Tethras. He spoke to no one and pretended he couldn’t hear any time someone tried to speak to him. Evanna was the only one not trying to talk to him, beyond quietly informing him when they would make camp or when food was prepared. He did feel distantly grateful for that; the Inquisitor understood he needed space, though he suspected she was granting it out of guilt. She blamed herself for Lythriael’s death, and Varric didn’t yet have it in him to correct her.

But he would. The only one at fault was himself. He had called his dearest friend out of hiding when it wasn’t necessary. He had run out of the Fade at the first opportunity rather than making sure everyone would get out safely. He was the one who failed, _again_.

But the Dwarf did appreciate that the Inquisitor genuinely grieved for the loss of Lythriael Hawke. The two women hadn’t known each other long, but they were alike in a lot of ways. They had found a kindred spirit in each other; just before the journey to Adamant, Varric had been musing on just how much the two women could accomplish together if Hawke decided to stay on with the Inquisition. That was just another regret on his shoulders: he’d deprived two good women of a great friendship.

Though the Wardens did share some of the blame. Varric was almost viciously grateful that Evanna had chosen to turn away the Wardens. Blackwall he could handle. But if he’d had to suffer working with Stroud or any of those other Wardens that had caused this whole damn mess in the first place…!

It was a blessing that Skyhold came into view just as those thoughts started to burn in him. It gave him a distraction, as he immediately made mental plans to drink himself into a stupor for at least one night.

One night turned into three, and it was only the remembrance of what caused his mother’s death that made him restrict it to three nights. On the fourth night, the Inquisitor finally approached him as he stood by the fire, reflecting on his memories of the best and most tragic woman he’d ever known.

“Varric…I… I’m sorry. Hawke…Lythriael was…a good woman. I can only guess how much her loss is hurting you…”

“You’re not at fault, Inqui–Evanna. Lyth…she always tried to take the burdens of others on to herself. She never wanted anyone to be hurt if she could take it for them…” Varric clenched his fists tight. “It’s just…one time, just _once_ , Lyth shouldn’t have been the one making the sacrifice. Just once… If anything, that should’ve been Stroud’s job, since a Warden’s job is supposed to be sacrifice…”

“I know… He pretty much said the same thing, and yet he hesitated as if I had to give him permission to do his duty.” Varric could hear the bitterness in her voice. “Lythriael didn’t even let me make that choice… She just smiled, said her piece and dove straight in.”

Varric’s lips quirked as bittersweet memories came to him from that phrase. “That’s Lyth all right… Did I ever tell you about the time she was on a Merchant Guild hit list?”

The story easily came to his mind but was a difficult to get out, even though it was one he’d wanted to tell. “…And one of them, true to its name…wandered off in the middle of the night…”

He couldn’t help but lean into the surprise hug Evanna gave him, withholding tears as she spoke once he’d pulled away. “This…isn’t easy for you, I know…”

Varric knew she didn’t just mean the story. “I should’ve stopped her, or at least not gone straight through the rift…She’d already paid enough for the mistakes of others…” It took a moment for Varric to compose himself and continue the story.

It did make him smile to remember how Lythriael and Leandra had teamed up to utterly baffle the Merchant Guild hit squad, even managing a laugh when he saw Evanna found it funny too. But all too soon the story was over, and his mood fell again.

“Lyth just…had that effect on people.”

“I noticed that myself… Even with everything she’d been through, she was still…kind and compassionate, even if she disagreed fundamentally with someone…like Stroud.”

“Yeah… I…always wanted to tell that one.” Varric gave her a pained half-smile. “Thanks, Evanna.” As she nodded to him, Varric heaved a pained sigh. Talking about Leandra had reminded Varric that he had a duty he needed to fulfill: the others needed to know. “I guess I’ve got some letters to write…Gamlen’s going to be furious, though Fenris will probably beat him out for emotional turmoil… Excuse me, Evanna.”

It was as he turned away that she hesitantly spoke again, and the broken pieces of his heart ached at what she had to say. “Varric… Her last words were…Say goodbye to Varric for me…”

He couldn’t stop a tear from slipping down his face. “I…I wish I had said…something, anything… But it doesn’t matter now…” _She’s gone…it’s too late for everything I should’ve said…_

It was all he could do to accept another hug from Evanna, but he wished it was Lythriael’s arms around him instead.

…-…-…-…-…

“How is she progressing, High Lord?”

Darion Mograine knelt before his king and master, once more withholding his curiosity over the Lich King’s fascination with the newest Death Knight. “Lythriael Hawke is improving by the hour, growing ever more accustomed to her dark rebirth. She wields Frost as easily as breathing, though she has a talent for raising minions and a stamina enviable of any Blood specialist. Of the current ranks, she works excellently with Thassarian’s trine, though Orbaz seems offended by her very existence.”

The Lich King gave off an air of amused satisfaction at the report. “As expected. She will grow powerful beside Thassarian and Koltira, and her very presence will press Orbaz to his full potential. How soon will she be ready to be tested in a raid party?”

Considering a moment, Darion replied, “If she continues to progress at her current rate, I would say within the next two weeks.”

“Excellent. See to it she is. Make certain she acquires a mount within that time as well.”

“By your command.”

...TBC...

**Author's Note:**

> -For the record, I only ever played the Hawke Sacrifice route once just to see what would happen. I have never reloaded a save so quickly in my life. It HURTS to see/hear how broken up Varric is over Hawke's death/disappearance.
> 
> -On the other hand, the fact that Hawke's death technically isn't confirmed in-game opens up a large realm of possibilities for story ideas. Literally, Hawke could be dropped anywhere thanks to this route.
> 
> -On the subject of the Fenris Romance, I always completed it whenever I play it in-game. However, narrative-wise, I can totally see him and Hawke reconciling into strictly close friends and him still being protective as hell over her/him. That's the stance I've take for this particular idea.
> 
> -Yes, I named Hawke's Mabari Beo. I like it, so there!
> 
> -I know people tend to find it less funny/entertaining, but I prefer a mostly Diplomatic!Hawke with some Charm and very rare Bloodthirsty moments. Also, Rogues. Rogues for the win. I'm not kidding, I generally don't enjoy the mechanics for playing Warriors/Mages in the Dragon Age series so all my player characters tend to be Rogues.


End file.
